


Away From The Roll Of The Sea

by BellumGerere



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/M, Fluff without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-25 23:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellumGerere/pseuds/BellumGerere
Summary: With the help of a little hydromancy, Yennefer makes an important discovery.





	Away From The Roll Of The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> so some of y'all who've read my other works might be aware of this, but - i start grad school in less than a month (and a teaching assistantship on top of that) so i'm trying to finish as many wips as i have time for before then, because once all that starts i'll probably only have time to focus on awal, if anything. this has been sitting in my one-shot folder for like a year and a half lol; it's inspired by a song of the same name, which i'll link on my tumblr in the post about this fic. it's just a little fluffy thing, but i write so much Angst that this is probably a welcome change aldfkajfl. this could potentially be read as being set in the same universe as 'stone cold' but the two aren't really related -bel
> 
> ps. idk shit about actual hydromancy, so this is mostly based off what triss does in the tw3 quest 'blindingly obvious,' though the addition of having a physical token of the person you want to see is mine as far as i know (by which i mean it wasn't used in the game lol, i'm sure it's a real thing somewhere). geralt and triss's dialogue is from the end of 'now or never'

It had been two months. Actually, it had been slightly over two months—she knew because she’d been keeping count with small marks made on the back page of her journal. Over two months without a word, with no way of knowing where Geralt had been, or what he’d found. Yennefer told herself over and over again that she needed to be patient with him. It wasn’t fair of her to expect his methods of searching to provide the kind of instant results magic did, especially since she’d specifically instructed him not to use magic at all. Still, by now she should’ve heard _something_.

Her own investigation had been halted before it even began, as Ermion had closed off the site of the explosion and wouldn’t let her near it—or anyone else, for that matter. It felt as though they were deliberately keeping something from her, which left no doubt in her mind that that forest was exactly where she needed to be. But the chance of any of them listening to her alone had already proven to be none, so she had to resort to other means. She would need Geralt’s help with that. And possibly for other things as well.

She huffed out a sigh and let her eyes wander to the book on the nightstand, the one she’d taken from Emhyr’s library before she left for Skellige. She’d been trying not to think too hard about it, which of course meant she thought about it every few days or so, along with its implications, with the things she was trying very hard to forget. He had to be in Novigrad now, going after what little of a lead she had given him. After _her_. The mere idea of it twisted her stomach into knots, larger than the ones that had been there years ago. She told herself she was being selfish, that if she truly wanted to find Ciri—and she did, _gods, _she did—then she would have no qualms about sending him to Triss for help. But Triss also had no qualms about certain things regarding Geralt, and she didn’t want to be around to see that happen a third time.

Geralt. How many nights here had she fallen asleep thinking about him? How many times had she done more than that? It frustrated her to no end, the hold that he still seemed to have over her. If she had her way, she’d cut him out of her mind entirely and be done with it. She’d keep him around long enough to make sure that Ciri was safe, then she’d leave—but she knew that wouldn’t happen. Like it or not, she still cared about him, perhaps more than she should. And she was willing to admit that, at least to herself. The problem was not knowing whether or not he still felt the same.

Years ago, even when things had been at their rockiest between them, she’d always found Geralt easy to read. She’d been around enough to learn all his tells, and if that failed…well, she could always fall back on peeking into his thoughts. When she found him in White Orchard, when they spoke at the palace in Vizima, she’d purposely kept herself from doing that. And he’d seemed—glad, she supposed, to see her, but any thoughts of his beyond that were a mystery, and it scared her. He had barely reacted at all to the knowledge that he would be meeting up with Triss in Novigrad, and as she’d watched him file the information away with no emotion, it had been difficult to keep the anger from welling up; she’d been counting on that little reaction to let her know whether or not she was wanted.

It had been two months—sixty days spent nearly alone in Skellige, and there she was waiting for Geralt to resume her investigation, because _she _wanted him there. It was ridiculous, she thought to herself as she sat at the little desk in the room she was renting. She was being ridiculous. But knowing that wouldn’t stop her from wondering. She had no way to get in contact with him, either, not when she was uncertain if he was anywhere near a functioning megascope; given the current political climate in Novigrad, she wouldn’t be surprised to learn they were hard to come by. Sooner or later, she would have to do _something_, though. Any more waiting and she would surely lose her mind.

In an effort to distract herself, she stood and walked over to the foot of the bed, kneeling in front of one of the trunks she’d brought with her. There were more than a few books inside, and though she’d already read through them multiple times, she could certainly find something in one of them to occupy the hours. As she was pulling the tomes out, though, and setting them carefully on top of the quilts lest any of them be damaged, something else caught her eye—a scrap of fabric, tucked away in the bottom corner of the trunk. Frowning, Yennefer pulled it out and held it up in front of her face, trying to get a better look at it in the fading lamplight.

It was a square of black velvet, one that looked as though it had once been carefully folded, though the voyage to Skellige and the constant rearranging of the things in the trunk had disrupted that. But she recognized it immediately as belonging to the outfit Geralt had worn when last they were in Vizima. He hadn’t taken the clothes they provided with him, and it had been almost laughably easy to sneak a cutting from the doublet’s lining before she got on the boat. Holding it now, she couldn’t remember why, exactly, she’d initially wanted it, beyond the compulsion to have something of his—between her anger at Crach and Ermion, and her worry for Ciri, it had fallen to the back of her mind and the bottom of her trunk. But she could certainly make use of it now.

There was a large, round wooden bathtub in the corner of her chambers, one that she’d made use of multiple times a day when she’d first arrived—both for lack of anything better to do and because even the air there, right by the sea, was enough to make her feel suffocated and unclean. It took several minutes for her to fill it on her own, even with the aid of magic; it would be a bad idea to overtax herself then, when Geralt could arrive any day to pick up the search, and so she stopped frequently, only raising the water level an inch or two at a time.

In the meantime, she changed out of her clothes into an oversized tunic that she didn’t mind getting damp, and pulled her hair back with a leather tie. Hydromancy was no easy business, after all, and frequently a messy one. Even after the tub was full of lukewarm water, she let it sit as she rearranged the bottles on the vanity simply for something to do. The voice of reason in her head screamed at her not to exert herself more than was necessary—and this was surely not necessary; though she was loath to admit it, she was resorting to this for no reason other than to soothe her jealousy. Or stoke it, as the case may be. She couldn’t stand not knowing any longer.

Mind made up, Yennefer stood and crossed the room in only a few short strides, snatching the scrap of velvet from where it laid on top of the bedcovers as she passed. If she let herself dwell on her reasons any longer, she would become convinced of the futility of the whole thing, whisk the water filling the bathtub away, and spend the rest of the night berating her own foolishness. She had to act now, or lose her nerve altogether.

The square of black fabric fell onto the surface of the water, causing ripples that lapped against the wooden edges of the tub. She focused on those patterns, allowed herself to become lost in them before she began to cast. She had to focus on that, and nothing else—not the words she was speaking, or the worries that lurked in the back of her mind. She would think of Geralt when the time came, but if she let herself get too distracted by other things, the spell wouldn’t work properly, and there was no telling what the water would show her then.

After a moment, the tension started to drain from her, the rhythm of the words becoming more and more natural as she spoke. The water’s surface was becoming increasingly turbulent, the ripples larger, to the point where some of the water was sloshing over the side of the tub and onto the stone floor. Yennefer knelt down next to it, uncaring of the stone’s roughness or the dampness under her knees. The closer she could be to the water, the clearer the vision would be.

“_Greame et dwyr_,” she murmured, the words crisp and precise. “_Rhobier’me gelle a failte. Greame et dwyr, deagnis cair-lle ess pyr’shena a et cleytte._” And again, and again, until at last she felt she could say them no more, and her hands came up to the side of the tub, gripping it tightly, fingers just barely skimming the water’s surface.

The image that formed was somehow both exactly what she suspected, and a complete surprise.

Geralt stood on a dock, a large ship nearby, and standing in front of them was Triss. Neither of them looked to be in the best shape, covered in scrapes and cuts and smears of blood, and Yennefer wondered what, exactly, had brought them to that point. Had Geralt discovered more about Ciri in Novigrad than she’d been led to believe he would? The last time they spoke, it had seemed their most tenuous lead, but perhaps she was wrong. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Thank you,” Triss was saying as the vision fell into focus, voice muffled as if coming from underwater—which, Yennefer supposed, it was. “I’ll never forget what you did for me…and what we had together.”

Her grip on the wooden tub tightened so suddenly that for a moment she feared she would lose the image entirely, and she forced herself to relax, taking deep breaths and hissing them out between her teeth. So this wasn’t about Ciri, then. This was an errand of a more…personal nature. She could try to pretend the anger she felt was on her daughter’s behalf, but it would be best not to lie to herself, lest her thoughts become more unstable than they already were. She had to _focus_.

“I’ll remember you, too,” Geralt replied, and Yennefer’s heart raced with a sudden, senseless hope. “Always with a smile.” It sounded like a goodbye—but that couldn’t possibly be right. Her luck would not hold like that, not when she’d had so little of it lately.

An incoherent shout echoed from somewhere she couldn’t see, and Triss turned towards the unidentified voice. “Coming!” she yelled, before looking back at Geralt. She looked sadder than she had any right to be. In another life, Yennefer might have felt sympathy for her former friend. Now, there was only an aching nothingness. “Take care…and give Ciri a kiss from me once you find her.”

The fury swelled up again, but she shoved it back down—a task made all the easier by the fact that only a few seconds later, after a sad shake of her head, Triss walked away, presumably to board the boat. The vision was focused on Geralt, so she would likely never know for sure. He remained where he was a moment longer, then turned away from the shore, and Yennefer was faced with a man she had not expected to see.

“You’re an arse,” said Sigismund Dijkstra, arms crossed over his chest. Geralt only looked at him, apparently as confused as Yennefer herself, so he continued. “An ass. An oaf. A twit. Didn’t even try to stop her.”

Yennefer scoffed and let her focus on the vision wane, for only a moment. She didn’t want to hear Dijkstra berate Geralt for a choice that she was glad he had made. She knew he had his issues with her; she didn’t need them refreshed. The sound of their voices grew even more hushed until she couldn’t make out the words anymore—all she could do was watch them. The spell was less taxing like this, anyway, and a better choice if she wanted to keep this up much longer, though after what she’d just seen, she wasn’t sure she did.

Thankfully, after a short conversation, Dijkstra walked off and left Geralt alone on the docks. For what felt like forever, he did not move, staring out over the water’s surface much like she was doing, albeit in different senses. Then, after a quick glance around, he reached into one of the pockets in the lining of his armor and pulled something out—something small enough for him to close his hand around, to fit in his palm. Yennefer refocused the vision again, the sound flooding her ears as the image of him in the water became sharper. And he uncurled his fingers, and—

It was _hers_.

She recognized it instantly: the crystal skull of the bird she’d summoned as a weapon on her way to White Orchard, the one that she had dropped on the battlefield without much care. Trinkets like those had never been worth much to her; she could spell a thousand of them if she needed to without much effort on her part. And she _knew_ he had been on her trail, knew he would stumble upon that site eventually, but she hadn’t expected that level of thoroughness, if he would even stop to search it instead of pressing forward. But he had looked, and he’d found it, and he’d _kept _it.

A surge of emotion swelled up in her so suddenly that her throat constricted with it, and she broke the spell with a gasp, the water’s surface churning for a moment before calming just as suddenly. “Oh, Geralt,” she whispered to herself, because she had to say _something_, couldn’t just let this pass by in silence. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, she tried to remind herself. Just because he had turned away any advances Triss might have made didn’t mean he wouldn’t also do the same to her. But the knot of doubt and worry in her stomach had lessened somewhat, and she felt as though, for the first time since she’d arrived in Skellige, she could properly breathe.

He was already on the docks, she thought, a smile crossing her face. It would not take him much looking to find a ship.

**Author's Note:**

> one of my favorite details from white orchard is being able to find that little skull, and i was kind of disappointed when it didn't bring up a more...emotional dialogue option with yen? like yeah it might not mean much to her as an object, but the fact that he found it and knew it was hers and kept it through velen and novigrad??? i cry. i don't have a translation for the elder speech here since it was taken straight from the game and i didn't look it up lol. also i had to watch a surprising amount of triss content for this so yall are welcome aldkfjalkfjal
> 
> idk when anything else is going to be done but i think my main goals right now are to finish my badthingshappenbingo card and all the prompts currently in my inbox since those are a bit older. other things are in the works tho...like a lot of other things lmao


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